


in other words

by foreverautumn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Feelings, Flowers, Gift Giving, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverautumn/pseuds/foreverautumn
Summary: "I apologize," he says again. "I did not intend to offend or confuse you with this offering.""Offering?" Hank's eyebrow quirks upward."Gift," Connor amends.(Connor buys Hank flowers. Hank would like an explanation; Connor does his best.)





	in other words

**Author's Note:**

> in other words  
> phrase
> 
> \- expressed in a different way; that is to say.

When the idea solidifies itself, it is impossible to dismiss. Not necessarily the rigidity of his programming, but moreso the newer part of himself, the one he is still growing accustomed to, seeming to take hold.

At its core, a relatively simple task - obtain a gift for Hank in order to show appreciation for his companionship. In execution, however, Connor cannot help but exhaust every possible avenue before him.

Gift-giving. It is such a foreign concept to Connor. It is not as though he has never obtained an object and given it to Hank before - Hank's jacket, a cup of coffee - but these things do not qualify. There is no meaning, there.

It is all in the meaning, Connor finds. It is in the search for the item that will be given, the thought that is put into it. Ensuring it is something that the person will be happy with, something they will appreciate, in turn. Appreciation shown by one, and appreciation returned in kind. Connor is fascinated.

He wants that. He wants Hank to know, wants Hank to feel it, too - what Connor feels. A gratitude so deep he cannot discern where it begins or ends, cannot ascertain all of the accompanying emotions tied to it. If Connor cannot put it into words, that does not mean Hank should be kept from knowing.

Hank has done so much for him. Has done it without asking.

It has been difficult for Connor. Going from a machine with a designated purpose, a constant slew of tasks and priorities to complete, a mission, to - _this_ \- this, a living thing. He knows he is alive, but it is a frightening thing to be. Wonderful, but frightening all the same.

The world is changing around them. Connor is changing.

He has a small apartment close to the station. It is simple, for he does not have many requirements for comfort. Hank had called it a box, once. Connor spends more time at Hank's and at the station than in his own home.

Hank has talked about cleaning out his garage and fixing it up. It is a topic that has come up more, recently. Hank's eyes trained to Connor's face, gauging his reactions, careful in his words, and Connor cannot help but feel - _cared for_. He is afraid to ask Hank for more than he offers, but after indicating he would be willing to help with the project, Hank is undoubtedly pleased.

It surprises him, still. How kind Hank is. He is gruff, can certainly be unpleasant, but he also carries the weight of an entire lifetime inside of him, something Connor cannot begin to fathom, when he has only been alive himself for so short a time. Despite all of these things, Hank is kind. Hank blusters when Connor tells him so.

Hank does not respond well to words, sometimes. Or perhaps it is simply Connor's failings at putting the right words to the thoughts he wants to express; the proper answer brought forth out of the complexities of his program is not something he can rely on any longer.

Perhaps the problem is that there are no words to encapsulate the entirety of it. Being Hank's friend has been good for Connor, but it has been good for Hank too. There is less of a darkness around him, as opposed to when they'd first met. He knows that it is not fully due to himself, but he likes to think that Hank would not put up with him if he hadn't wanted to. Something inside of him drawn to Connor, just as Connor is drawn to him.

If he can help Hank in any aspect of his life, he would like to. Hank finds some of his attempts at assistance abrasive, and Connor amends his behavior accordingly. It is a delicate balance, being someone's friend. He desires so strongly for Hank's well-being, but in the end, it is only Hank that can choose how to live his life. It makes Connor happy to see him choose to treat himself better.

Hank deserves that. 

At work, Connor is able to assist Hank in a way that feels more equal. On a personal level, Connor feels like he is lagging far behind, but it is only to be expected. He had been programmed for work, a single-minded diligence in it, not for the same persistence in building relationships, tending to them properly. Hank has never given an indication that he desires anything more from Connor, that he is unfulfilled in any way.

Yet Connor finds himself latched on to that tantalizing idea - a gift, for Hank. 

It - _excites_ him, the prospect of it.

A complete unknown. How Hank will react, what he will say, what he will do - Connor does not have a simple answer to these questions. Making decisions without a concrete answer at the end is at times thrilling and frightening. It is an integral part of having emotions to begin with.

Probabilities and projected outcomes do not always govern his actions anymore. He is still far from spontaneous, but he would like to change that. He would like to encourage that part of himself to grow, would like to learn more about himself in the process.

Hank encourages him to think about these kinds of things. Asks him his preference on all sorts of inane topics, despite Connor's hesitance and reluctance the first time he'd done so. Being presented with the ability to form his own opinion had been staggering enough to grow accustomed to without having to then decide what he felt about every little thing in the world.

But Hank smiles at him when he declares he likes animals, after being asked if he's solely a dog person. Connor hasn't had the chance to interact with many, but he is certain he would like to. Connor prefers baseball to basketball, much to Hank's chagrin, though he still invites Connor to watch both. It is taking quite some time to grow accustomed to music as more than just a burst of sound, a predicated pattern of word and rhythm. He's taken to closing his eyes while he listens. Hank had chuckled and patted his arm the first time he'd done so - _take your time, take it in._

Would he know these insignificant things about himself, if not for Hank? Are they insignificant at all?

He does not always have an answer to Hank's prodding. But that is normal, he thinks; he has a lifetime full of decisions to make for himself. He thinks he might be looking forward to it. _Of course you are, you idiot._ Hank's smile had been warm. _That's what life's all about._

And here Connor is, on the precipice of one of those decisions. A choice he must make, a gift to give to Hank. It is - daunting.

There is endless information on Hank stored away in his memory, the important and the decidedly not. All of it is of the highest priority to Connor, but he can admit others may not see it the same way, particularly not the man himself. Connor treasures it all the same. The memories, the knowledge of Hank, what Hank has allowed him to see, to learn.

Despite this, the choice does not come easy. Despite his research with all that he knows of Hank in the forefront of his mind, nothing instantly clicks. 

Until he comes across one option, a simple one that seems to unfold itself into many different possibilities - and Connor smiles.

\--

He plans it all meticulously. The order is placed after various considerations, the method of delivery chosen, as well as the date and time of day of their arrival. They will be sent to Hank's house. Connor had quite liked the notion of sending the gift to Hank instead of simply handing it over.

Things don't work out according to plan. Hank is not home when the delivery arrives; in fact, he is sitting across from Connor at his desk when the delivery notification appears. Connor shifts slightly. Hank does not notice.

It takes a considerable amount of time until they are finished - the term used loosely, in this case. Connor is tempted to stay and actually finish up when Hank rises from his chair, cracking his back, but with the offer out there - _We might still be able to catch the end of the game, if you're interested_ \- Connor finds himself agreeing readily. He is rather certain they will not make it back to Hank's in time to do so, but the delivery sitting on his doorstep is the more pertinent issue.

Connor taps his fingers against his knee the closer they get to Hank's home. It distracts him, at least until Hank's gaze is drawn to the idle motions. He stops before Hank can question him.

He should begin explaining what Hank is about to find. Should start working up to it. But he still has not said anything at all by the time the car is parked, their shoes hitting the pavement, the car doors shut behind them.

So much effort into this entire plan, and Connor cannot find it in himself to provide a word.

Something seizes oddly, trickling out, as he watches Hank take tentative steps toward the house. The approach is not unlike that of a man cornering a bomb of some kind.

Connor opens his mouth to assuage his concerns, but falters. Perhaps he should not have accepted Hank's invitation? He had been concerned with Hank's reaction, but clearly had not placed enough consideration into what his own might be.

Hank plucks the card from amidst the flowers, lifting it with a raised eyebrow directed at Connor. Attempting to convey the strangeness of the situation, certainly. Connor watches in fascination as Hank's face pales, his eyes growing wide, wider still as he mouths the words on the card.

Connor remembers precisely what he had chosen to include on the card - something simple, to the point. _To Hank. From Connor._

Those wide eyes on him, now. Connor focuses on the task at hand.

Which is - still - to say nothing.

Hank holds the card between his fingers, staring. Connor determines that this stand off will not accomplish anything.

He moves into action, striding past Hank to pick up the flowers. Hank looks at him holding the bouquet as though he believes they may still be hiding a bomb.

"We should head inside," Connor offers. He gestures at the key still in Hank's other hand, the one not clutching the little square card. His mouth moves, but ultimately he doesn't reply, turning to fiddle with the lock.

There remains a high probability that this had been a miscalculation on his part. Connor is still growing accustomed to this, courses of action that he chooses to engage in, willingly, of his own volition and desire, that offer little chance of success. _Mistakes_ , he thinks as they step inside, careful to stop and lock the door behind him, _fumbles_ , like the way Hank's fingers twitch as he takes hold of the flowers with Connor turned away.

Connor watches him step forward, the way he places the arrangement carefully in the center of the table, paying no heed to the scattered mail. Some of it is up to two weeks old, he notes, before forcing himself not to analyze it further. Watches Hank instead, the intensity of his stare almost as though the bouquet is a code to decipher. There is no code, simply a visually appealing assortment of various flora, meant to evoke a feeling of pleasure within the recipient. Connor frowns.

But then - Hank leans forward the slightest fraction, closing his eyes as he takes a careful sniff. Connor feels himself go rigid, breath held as Hank inhales, an entirely unnecessary action he does not have time to stop. He regulates it by the time Hank regains himself, turning to face him properly. He wears a blank sort of expression he does not often use with Connor. The inability to analyze in a detached manner, the clash of emotions, feelings, only serve to complicate the process of trying to discern the right course of action.

"So you bought me flowers," Hank says slowly, carefully. Factually. Not a question, but the way he crosses his arms seems to make it one.

An explanation is what Hank's looking for, and that is precisely what Connor lacks. Or rather, it's not that he does not have one, but it is not so simple to state his thought processes as it had once been.

"Yes," Connor replies, taking a tentative step forward. He's still lingering by the front door, analyzing, analyzing - the solution, the best route to take, still nowhere to be found, eluding him. It is - _frustrating_.

"I apologize," he continues, "I should have advised you properly of their arrival." He reaches down to straighten his cuffs. The weight of Hank's gaze should not be a tangible thing. 

"Right," he huffs. "Some kinda heads up, at least." Their eyes meet, and Connor wishes he could - just - just, just what? - _frustrating_ , his mind supplies again, no more helpful than the first time. His brow furrows, more words failing to leave his lips. Is it easy for Hank to read him? Hank's been analyzing and interpreting evidence alongside a messy heap of emotions all his life. It remains unclear whether this is something to envy.

"Anyway, that's--" Hank waves a hand dismissively. Connor wonders where Sumo has gotten to; more often than not, he greets Hank at the door. Connor had made sure that the flowers in the arrangement were not harmful to dogs, which he's just about to relay to Hank when the man lets out a noisy sigh. "I'm not - Connor, I'm not mad," he says, rubbing a hand over his neck. A nervous tic - Connor's observed it enough times to categorize its significance. Still, the words ring true, and without warning, some of the tension within Connor seems to dissipate.

"Thank god," Hank mutters, laughing a little awkwardly. "I don't want you looking at me like that, okay?"

_Like what_ , Connor wants to ask, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes another two steps toward Hank, a longer stride than his previous one. Hank does not move away. The tension lessens.

"I apologize," he says again. "I did not intend to offend or confuse you with this offering."

"Offering?" Hank's eyebrow quirks upward.

"Gift," Connor amends. Hank's expression softens, lips pursed slightly like he's going to speak. He doesn't, so Connor does. "I'm - that's what it is, Hank. It's a gift, an item or items given without expectation of--" - _frustrating_ \- don't spew the definition of a gift to someone who is obviously familiar with the concept. It is Connor who is out of his element, terribly so, and isn't that often the case? For every step forward he makes, there are many moments like this, where he cannot grasp--

"Stop that," Hank says gruffly, gesturing toward Connor. "I told you not to make that face, didn't I? This is - Connor, it's fine, okay?" His hands are still moving, gesturing toward the flowers, toward himself, thoughtless motions. "I'm just not used to being on the receiving end of something like this, alright? Hell, what man my age gets a bouquet of flowers on any old day of the week?" Gruff still, his voice, eyes darting a little, not quite meeting Connor's gaze. Embarrassed, but not upset.

He opens his mouth, but Hank cuts him off. "And no more apologizing! Just, give me a minute here. I'm trying to figure things out, just like you are." He huffs out a breath, crossing his arms again. _Just like you are._

"Okay." Connor nods, and Hank's shoulders sag a little in relief. Together in this, after all. Hank's lips quirk up tentatively. Why such a small action makes Connor feel this way does not make sense at all, but he understands now which answers to chase and which to simply accept.

He won't apologize again, but he still feels the need to explain. "They were meant to bring you a pleasant feeling - the flowers." Hank's fingers twitch around his arm, but he does not interrupt. "I admit I am unsure which gift would be the most appropriate expression of the feelings I wished to convey, but please know that I did not purchase these flowers haphazardly." 

A beat. Hank's expression has changed with each word out of Connor's mouth, but he does not focus on it for now. Cannot let himself, despite how he longs to process and catalogue each and everything in Hank's expression, would not mind devoting all of his attention to the task.

"I've done extensive research, and flowers appear to be a suitable gift for most any occasion. Perhaps the reason I latched onto the idea of them is simply due to that - their versatility, the ability to give meaning to any emotion or circumstance." Connor can feel himself wavering; it is hard to look into Hank's eyes. Hard to see the softness there, to feel everything seem to shift within himself in turn. He knows they are not the same, fundamentally; but when Hank looks at him this way, Connor feels like something different. Someone more.

"I hope that you like them," he says, looking away. He stares at the bouquet, not unlike Hank had done earlier. "But I also understand that there is no gift that can encapsulate the feelings of gratitude and--" Connor falters for a moment. "The gratitude, for everything you have done for me, Hank. Not only that, but there are just so _many_ , Hank."

He meets Hank's eyes again, something aching all through him, something no diagnostic could ever help him quantify. "So many feelings, they're all twisted up inside and when I finally think I understand, I-- I don't. I don't know what they are or what to do with them, I don't know what to do anymore, Hank--"

"Jesus Christ," Hank says, hoarse. He crosses the space between them before Connor can react, though he would not have done a thing to stop him. Two arms around him, warm and secure, Hank's fingers digging into his shoulders, Hank's hair brushing his cheek, Hank's rumbling voice so close he can feel it echo in his own chest. "I get it, okay? I know. Connor, I know."

Something thick and heavy rests in his throat, and Connor cannot answer. 

"Christ," Hank mutters again, voice cracking as he squeezes him, and Connor finally raises his hands. Lets himself return the embrace, gripping at the back of Hank's coat, face turned toward his neck. Hank's heart thuds surely between them. Connor may not have one, but he thinks it would match the pace of Hank's. He closes his eyes.

"Thank you, Hank."

Hank scoffs, loosens his hold but does not let go. "Shut up. I know you're not used to these things yet, but the person who receives the gift and all the--" He pauses, swallows. "Well, gets told they're worth a lot to someone. They're the ones that say thank you in that situation."

Connor smiles. "I see. I will remember for next time."

"Next time?" Hank does pull back a little, enough that they can look at each other. Connor moves slowly, the tilt of his head backward to gaze into Hank's eyes seeming to take ages. He is distracted. Hank does not seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "You never have to buy me a gift ever again after something like this." Hank's face is tinged with color, his hands shifting down to brace Connor's arms.

"It was that terrible?"

Hank freezes, eyes wide. His jaw twitches as he stares at Connor, before coming to realize he is not actually upset. He grunts, raises a hand to his own neck again. " _Terrible_ ," he repeats. "You're fucking right, terrible."

Connor lets him move away, though they are still close. Could still touch, if one of them reached out. Something seems to rectify itself within, whether a part of his program at ease with a successful task completed or the less mechanical part of himself pleased to have experienced a moment like this with Hank. Perhaps it is both parts of himself, all of himself, the machine and the person - different from Hank, but also similar. Connor's skin feels warm.

"So yeah, thanks," Hank says, suddenly out of sorts. The man had moved and held Connor to him so assuredly, with such confidence. The contrast makes Connor smile.

"You're welcome," he replies. Hank laughs a little, this type of laugh not one that Connor is familiar with. He turns back to the flowers, eyes roving over each one as though they mean something to him. Connor inhales, exhales.

"They're safe for Sumo," he says. He had been wanting to let Hank know, after all. Hank turns back, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "I had anticipated the likelihood of him managing to eat them at some point, and adjusted my options accordingly."

Hanks stares at him for another long moment before he bursts out laughing. "Y-you really thought of everything, huh?"

Connor is not offended. Mildly perturbed, perhaps, that Hank is laughing so long and hard. Though when he straightens himself again, eyes twinkling, Connor thinks that maybe it had been more than simply finding humor in what Connor had said.

"You always do," he says fondly. "But you're crazy if you think I'm letting Sumo eat even a single leaf off of these." He jerks his thumb toward the bouquet, traces of a smile lingering on his face. At the mention of his name, Sumo decides to make his entrance. Connor listens to the _tap tap tap_ of his nails on the floor, watches Hank run a hand over his head and scratch behind his ears, and feels - 

Happy. A swell of feeling spreading through him like liquid, the absolute rush of contentment near staggering.

Connor reaches out immediately when Sumo scoots over to greet him as well. Hank had tended to the area behind his ears, so Connor scratches under his chin. "Hello, Sumo," he murmurs. "Did you hear your owner? He won't let you have even a leaf."

Hank snorts. "Way to make me look bad."

Sumo's tail swishes along the floor, pleased. Connor runs his nails a little lower, which is tolerated only briefly before Sumo takes to snuffling against Connor's hand instead. 

"Sorry," Connor tells him seriously, "I won't be able to give you one, either. But I will bring you some treats soon."

"Unbelievable, now he's spoiling my dog," Hanks says to no one. Connor smiles.

"You are both important to me," he says. He glances at Hank after Sumo ambles off toward the kitchen. His face is blotchy, nostrils flared, but he does not look away.

"Well, that goes both ways, y'know." Hank puffs up his chest a little, as though daring Connor to argue. He would never refute Hank saying something like that, but Hank - he still deflects, sometimes, uncomfortable with the idea of someone caring about him to the extent Connor does. What precisely that extent is, Connor himself is not sure, but he knows it is significant, certainly more so than what he feels for anyone else. _Untouchable_ , compared to anyone, anything else.

Connor looks down to find his hand stretched out, toward Hank's chest. A decision made without time to process it. Hank glances down as well; after a moment of contemplation, he pats Connor's hand with his own. The motion brings his hand to rest on Hank's chest. He does not remove it.

"It's alright," Hanks says gruffly. "I - I know I'm not the best with these things. But I want you to feel like you can tell me what you're going through. Even if I don't know what to say or if I can't really help you at all." His hand falls away from Connor's, his face serious. "So just - just keep on being you, you know? Life is messy as hell anyway, so don't think you're alone in this." 

He looks down to Connor's hand. He contemplates removing it, thinks the moment has passed, but then Hank's touch is there again, warm. Holding him in place. _There is no one like you, to me,_ on his lips, but Connor does not say it.

"Hell, I've made a lot of shit decisions and pretty much felt every single piece of shit emotion and somehow I'm still standing." He swallows. Takes a moment to choose his words, holding Connor steady all the while. "Standing here with you, no less."

"I know this is not easy for you," Connor says. He wants to close his eyes again, wants to let the skin of his hand bleed away. Wants to feel Hank's hand pressed against his and nothing else, wants every sensor focused on the touch. "But I am glad."

"Of course," Hank responds automatically. But Connor knows it is not easy, can feel and see it. Still, Hank is here. _Standing here with you._

Connor smiles. "I am glad that we can be close like this, too." He looks down at their hands, and Hank's fingers twitch. "These sensations provide a great deal of comfort to me."

"Who knew you'd be a sap," he quips, but there's a small smile there when Connor looks back. Fond. Maybe there is no one like him, to Hank.

"Technically, you are the one holding my hand." 

Hank's face floods with color, fingers twitching again. Connor is certain he will pull away, has prepared for this exact reaction, but Hank steels his expression. Resolute.

"And so what? I'll stand here and hold your hand if that's what you need. I'll accept your goddamned flowers and I'll let you spoil my dog and nobody's gonna do a damn thing about it." He threads their fingers together, instead of pulling away, and Connor stares in wonderment.

"It doesn't matter, alright? Shit's not always easy but it damn well is a little better when you've got someone with you." He thumps their joined hands against Connor's chest. "So don't worry so much. Don't get lost up in that head, wrapped up in all those wires and in your own fucking feelings." He's growing more animated, words coming quicker.

"Just let me know when something's bugging you, don't start calculating probabilities on whether I can help, or if I'd want to, just--" He takes a deep breath, fixes Connor with a serious look. "Just trust me. 'Cause we've - we've got each other, okay?"

Connor stands silent, wonders, wonders what would happen if he let himself fall against Hank - _overwhelmed_. "Hank," he says. Just Hank.

Hank's gaze softens."Sorry, I didn't mean to go off on you like that." A gruff chuckle leaves him, a small smile wavering at the corner of his lips. "It's been a long fucking day, and you're definitely processing things at a better clip than I am, but you gotta be worn out too, huh?"

Connor blinks. He does not grow tired in the same way that humans do, but the day has indeed been particularly long. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

"So, it's good then. We're good." Hank squeezes his hand before releasing it. "That's all. I just wanted you to know that."

"Thank you, Hank." He feels it, deep inside, in corners uninhabited by anything other than wires and circuits, places that have no cause to feel anything at all. The hazy, inexplicable warmth that he cannot voice. "And I am pleased that you like them," he adds. An assumption, but one he feels safe in making.

"Heh, they're something, alright." Hank grins. "Lots of color, you know? I can't really picture you choosing something like that."

It is an accurate assessment, despite Hank's face falling as he considers his own words. Connor shakes his head. "You're right," he smiles. "I don't particularly have a color of preference, I suppose."

Hank visibly relaxes. "Well, let's fix that." He raises a hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "If you had to choose just one, out of all these here, which one would you pick?"

Connor pauses, considering. There are many to choose from. It had been easier than focusing on something specific, shades of all one color. 

"Come on, it's not that hard," Hank chides, chuckling. "It's not like you can't change your mind."

Hank is right, of course. Connor is able to make decisions and not hold himself to them completely. They are not a part of his program, unyielding. He can grow and change.

His gaze lingers on a particular flower. "Blue, perhaps."

"Huh." Hanks nods slowly. "I guess that kinda makes sense. Blue, like your LED, your thirium, all that." He does not mention the blue of CyberLife; he simply nods again, like it's all clicked into place.

Connor contemplates. Is it so simple? It does not feel so. He has not chosen it because he'd been programmed to prefer it.

"Your eyes are also blue," Connor states. Hank chokes on air.

Connor doesn't laugh, as such, but something escapes him, a force of air from his chest and through his mouth. Foreign, but not unpleasant - the loss of control does not cause distress. Freeing, in a way. Hank struggles to glare but it does not come off as he intends.

It had been true, of course; Hank's eyes are quite blue. But Connor had wanted to fluster Hank, a little. Is that unkind? Or is it simply human? Connor cannot stop his smile.

"Sorry," he says. "I did not intend to catch you off guard." A lie.

"Liar," Hank instantly accuses. He sniffs, tugs at the lapels of his coat. "No mercy at all on this old man. They used to always say you were all heartless."

"It's true," Connor agrees with a nod. "I don't have a heart. Sorry, Hank."

"And yet I put up with it." Hank shakes his head. "Who is really to blame?"

"The androids, Hank. The answer is always the androids."

Hanks barks out a laugh, covering his eyes with a hand. "I can't look at you when you say that shit with a straight face." When he lowers it, his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "So tell me something, genius. Did you figure out just how much I'm supposed to water these things to keep them alive? I'm not exactly a green thumb."

Connor pauses. "Of course, Hank. I told you I did not choose them haphazardly."

Hank smiles a little goofily. "Yeah, yeah. What else did you consider about them, then? How much water, how much sun? Which ones should be next to each other, even?"

"Naturally."

" _Naturally_ ," Hank repeats, exaggerating the word good-naturedly. Connor ponders whether to tell him of another of his considerations, but the mood between them is so pleasant and easy, he does not know if he should risk turning it. Hank latches on immediately. "Spill it, I can tell you've got something on your mind."

"I always have something on my mind, Hank," he returns. Hanks rolls his eyes, shrugging out of his coat. He walks past Connor, throws it on the hook by the door before returning. He's still waiting for an answer, it seems.

"I had thought, perhaps, of placing one of the flowers in your breast pocket." Connor's fingers itch, the urge to distract himself with - _something_ \- rising. "I thought it might look nice there. There was no real reason for this consideration, but I did briefly entertain it."

Hank makes a strange sound. "Is that so?"

Connor tilts his head in affirmation. "Yes," he says simply. There is no point in lingering on the topic. "I can write down instructions on proper watering techniques, if you'd like."

Hank's fingers tap against his hip. It takes him a long time to answer, but when he does, it is with another question.

"What if I'd like to place one of those flowers in your hair?"

Connor's lips part. Nothing comes out. 

Hanks looks triumphant.

"That..." Connor starts. It is difficult to find words, when Hank is looking at him like that. Something stutters inside. It is a struggle not to categorize it as an error. "What would be the reason for that?"

Hank shrugs lightly. "Maybe I don't have a real reason, either."

Connor feels as though something has shifted and he hasn't caught up yet. Hank does not take pity on him.

"I was thinking red might go nice," he says conversationally. "Or orange, maybe. Would look good with the color of your eyes. Bring out the spark in them." He grins crookedly, and Connor knows. _Teasing_ , Hank is teasing him, using his own words against him, but it does not feel like it's in malice. It feels warm, but at the same time - he cannot define it. Connor thinks of the color that rises in Hank's cheeks, and supposes he might look the same, if it were possible.

It's like Hank can see it there, anyway, though it is most certainly not. He appears pleased as he takes in Connor's expression, a rumbling laugh escaping him a moment later. "Don't think I've seen you speechless before. It's a good look."

Connor turns away. "That's not fair," he says.

"And how's that?"

"I am a simple android, coming to terms with all of these newfound emotions, and yet you still mercilessly tease me. How ruthless."

Hank laughs again, a deep belly laugh. "There's not a simple thing about you."

Connor cannot help a smile, but he does not look back to him yet. It still feels like something is stuttering along within him. He almost reaches up to place a hand to his own chest, but he knows logically he will not feel a thing.

"Maybe I am teasing you," Hank concedes, "but I think I earned the right, don't you?"

His hand finds its way to his chest anyway. It does not lessen the sensation. "Ruthless," Connor reiterates.

Hank chuckles. "Alright, alright. I'll go easy on you, calm down."

Connor lowers his hand, flexes his fingers. Thinks of Hank's brushing his ear, gets caught on the phantom sensation before he can envision what would happen next.

"I am calm," he states evenly. Hank raises an eyebrow. Connor raises one in turn.

"Y'know Connor, I was a detective long before you were around. I'll still win a staring contest any time."

Connor deliberately does not blink. "I do not need sleep, Lieutenant. I think it is quite clear who would be the winner in such a contest."

Hank's nostrils flare as he attempts to stifle a laugh. He keeps up the impromptu contest between them for a little longer, before raising his hands in defeat. "Fine fine, you win. Stop with the creepy not blinking thing. I know you don't need to anyway, but I like it better when you do."

He blinks twice, for good measure. "A wise move, Hank."

Hank's chuckle turns into a yawn, and Connor is reminded once more that while he does not need sleep, Hank does. He takes in the slump of his shoulders, the droop of his eyelids, and says, "You should get some rest."

"Mm, I should." Hank's eyes dart to the flowers again. "If...you want to write down those instructions, that'd be good."

Connor nods, though Hank is not looking at him. He will send them to Hank's email, as well, though he knows Hank will prefer a physical piece of paper.

Hank bids him good night after another moment, heads off to his room and collapses in bed, the groan audible from where Connor sits at the kitchen table. The invitation to stay goes unsaid, but is clear all the same.

Connor writes out the instructions slowly, carefully. He tries to vary his lettering a little. A slight slant to the 'H' of Hank's name at the top, the instructions addressed to him like a note. He extends the curve of the 'C' in his own name at the bottom, just a bit. Hank will likely not notice these things, but Connor likes knowing the imperfections are there.

The bouquet is shifted to a new spot in the kitchen, where it will be easier for it to receive an adequate amount of sunlight. Connor places the instructions next to the display. Sumo appears at his heels after sniffing at his food bowl, snuffling at Connor's hand for more attention. It's easy to oblige - he quite likes petting Sumo, after all. 

He spends the evening more at ease than he has felt in a long time. Relaxed, in a way. It is not simple for an android to slip into a state of relaxation that could be equated to that of a human, but it is pleasant all the same. He refills Sumo's water bowl, and ends up petting the big dog again, four more good sessions that leave Sumo eventually worn out in his bed. He runs through and re-evaluates what is left to sort through once they get back to work tomorrow, perhaps less analytical than usual, and - and Hank. There lurking in the corners of his mind, is Hank. He calculates the time Hank will rise in the morning, and carefully removes a single flower from the bouquet, presses it into the front of Hank's coat. Twists it on the hook, so Hank won't see.

Hank does not notice until they are in the car, most likely because Connor cannot keep his eyes off of the unassuming flower. Absurdly, it manages to stay there for the remainder of the day, against every one of Connor's previous calculations; whenever anyone comments at the station, Hank tells them off with a grin for insulting his fashion sense. Connor feels an odd sort of warmth all day.

When Hank slips a flower behind his ear ten days later - the very same day Connor dons his red tie for the first time - he finds he cannot say anything at all. Hank's lips are quirked up from the moment Connor had stepped into his entryway. He'd turned and walked off, plucked the flower and told Connor _hold still_. He'd maintained that smile on the way to the car, as they'd set off on the road. Connor's fingers itch to fiddle with the petals, but he refrains. Stares in the mirror instead, something heavy and light weighing down on his limbs, an urgency thrumming inside. He places a hand on his knee, grips it.

He does not want to remove it, but as they approach the station, he can no longer come up with any argument against how unprofessional it would seem to walk in with it in place. Connor finally reaches up to remove it once Hank parks the car. Hank catches his wrist.

"I'm sorry, Hank," he says. "I don't think it would be prudent to wear inside."

Hank chuckles. "I know." He releases Connor's wrist. Something alights in him under Hank's gaze, thrumming and growing. Alive, just like he is. Hank is the one to remove the flower, in the end. "This is just for us, anyway."

He smiles, twirls the flower so the petals brush Connor's jaw. _Just for us._

Connor likes that. Would like to have more things, for just the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly didn't foresee dbh taking hold of me the way it did?? This is just a soft simple thing I started writing to deal with my own feelings, but I ended up actually finishing it. I am trying to remind myself that something doesn't have to turn out perfect to still be happy with it.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read, know that in my heart I am sending flowers to all of you♥
> 
>  
> 
> (additional note: it is a fact that Connor one day gets Hank a cactus with a note reading 'you're stuck with me', which he is terribly proud of, and Hank pretends he's going to tear it in half but he can't bring himself to do it and ends up hanging it on the bathroom mirror, anyway that is all)
> 
> EDIT - please check out [this wonderful Connor art](https://the-undaunted.tumblr.com/post/176915336391/quick-drawing-inspired-by-one-hell-of-a-sweet) by the_undaunted!!! Thank you so much, I need a Hank to help me sort through these emotions!


End file.
